By Death’s unequal hand alike controll’d,
Fit comrades in Elysian regions move!
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Away, away, ye notes of woe!
Or I must flee from hence–for, oh!I dare not trust those sounds again.To me they speak of brighter daysBut lull the chords, for now, alas!I must not think, I may not gaze,On what I am–on what I was.The voice that made those sounds more sweetIs hush’d, and all their charms are fledAnd now their softest…
Francisca walks in the shadow of night,
But if she sits in her garden bower,‘Tis not for the sake of its blowing flower.She listens – but not for the nightingale –Though her ear expects as soft a tale.There winds a step through the foliage thick,And her cheek grows pale, and her heart beats quick.There whispers a voice thro’ the rustling leaves;A moment…
‘Had we never loved so kindly,
Never met or never parted,We had ne’er been broken-hearted.’ — BurnsTOTHE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD HOLLAND,THIS TALE IS INSCRIBED,WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT,BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED AND SINCERE FRIEND,BYRON.THE BRIDE OF ABYDOSCANTO THE FIRST.I.Know ye the land where cypress and myrtleAre emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,Where the rage of the…
When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
It cannot die, it cannot stay,But leaves its darken’d dust behind.Then, unembodied, doth it traceBy steps each planet’s heavenly way?Or fill at once the realms of space,A thing of eyes, that all survey?Eternal, boundless, undecay’d,A thought unseen, but seeing all,All, all in earth or skies display’d,Shall it survey, shall it recall:Each fainter trace that memory…
When Dryden’s fool, ‘unknowing what he sought,’
This guiltless oaf his vacancy of senseSupplied, and amply too, by innocenceDid modern swains, possess’d of Cymon’s powers,In Cymon’s manner waste their leisure hours,Th’ offended guests would not, with blushing, seeThese fair green walks disgraced by infamy.Severe the fate of modern fools, alas!When vice and folly mark them as they pass.Like noxious reptiles o’er the…
O! had my Fate been join’d with thine,
These follies had not, then, been mine,For, then, my peace had not been broken.To thee, these early faults I owe,To thee, the wise and old reproving:They know my sins, but do not know‘Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.For once my soul, like thine, was pure,And all its rising fires could smother;But, now, thy…